Higgins [turning hopefully] Yes, by George!  We want two or three people.  You’ll do as well as anybody else.

The parlor-maid returns, ushering Freddy.

The parlor-maid.  Mr. Eynsford Hill.

Higgins [almost audibly, past endurance] God of Heaven! another of them.

Freddy [shaking hands with Mrs. Higgins] Ahdedo?

Mrs. Higgins.  Very good of you to come. [Introducing] Colonel
Pickering.

Freddy [bowing] Ahdedo?

Mrs. Higgins.  I don’t think you know my son, Professor Higgins.

Freddy [going to Higgins] Ahdedo?

Higgins [looking at him much as if he were a pickpocket] I’ll take my oath I’ve met you before somewhere.  Where was it?

Freddy.  I don’t think so.

Higgins [resignedly] It don’t matter, anyhow.  Sit down.  He shakes Freddy’s hand, and almost slings him on the ottoman with his face to the windows; then comes round to the other side of it.

Higgins.  Well, here we are, anyhow! [He sits down on the ottoman next Mrs. Eynsford Hill, on her left.] And now, what the devil are we going to talk about until Eliza comes?

Mrs. Higgins.  Henry:  you are the life and soul of the Royal Society’s soirees; but really you’re rather trying on more commonplace occasions.

Higgins.  Am I?  Very sorry. [Beaming suddenly] I suppose I am, you know. [Uproariously] Ha, ha!

Miss Eynsford Hill [who considers Higgins quite eligible matrimonially] I sympathize.  I haven’t any small talk.  If people would only be frank and say what they really think!

Higgins [relapsing into gloom] Lord forbid!

Mrs. Eynsford Hill [taking up her daughter’s cue] But why?

Higgins.  What they think they ought to think is bad enough, Lord knows; but what they really think would break up the whole show.  Do you suppose it would be really agreeable if I were to come out now with what I really think?

Miss Eynsford Hill [gaily] Is it so very cynical?

Higgins.  Cynical!  Who the dickens said it was cynical?  I mean it wouldn’t be decent.

Mrs. Eynsford Hill [seriously] Oh!  I’m sure you don’t mean that,
Mr. Higgins.

Higgins.  You see, we’re all savages, more or less.  We’re supposed to be civilized and cultured—­to know all about poetry and philosophy and art and science, and so on; but how many of us know even the meanings of these names? [To Miss Hill] What do you know of poetry? [To Mrs. Hill] What do you know of science? [Indicating Freddy] What does he know of art or science or anything else?  What the devil do you imagine I know of philosophy?

Mrs. Higgins [warningly] Or of manners, Henry?